


Another Life

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Take That
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:21:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nigel Martin Smith is in a bad mood, he takes it out on everyone around him.  But one morning he goes too far and pushes Howard to find a courage he didn't know he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Life

Nigel was a right bastard in the morning. They all knew that. He rarely showed up for rehearsals before noon, and when he did he liked nothing better than to give a bollocking to one of his favourite targets. To Rob for fucking up, or to Jason for talking back, or to Mark for being the one boy in the band who'd never fight back.

He should have been in a good mood that morning—after all they were on their way to London for a cover photo shoot, yet another milestone on the band's road to success—but even by his usual standards, he was in a foul fucking mood. When Howard hopped into the hire van, he immediately noticed that Mark was biting his nails, Rob was in a sulk, and Gary was looking a bit white-faced at the wheel.

"Hurry up," Nigel barked at him. "We've still got Jason to pick up, and the traffic is fucking awful."

"Sorry, Nige." He sat down and opened his mouth to apologize more, but Mark gave him an elbow and shook his head.

They drove to Jason's pick up point in Wythenshawe in absolute silence. Even Rob didn't have a thing to say, and Rob always had something to say. Howard wondered what exactly had gone on before they'd picked him up.

When they got to the corner where Jason should have been waiting, it was empty.

"Where the fuck is he?" Nigel roared. "I told him he needed to be on time. He needs to learn his place." Nigel went on, fury building on rage, until Howard felt physically ill with the force of his anger. It was probably only a minute before Jason appeared, jogging around the corner, his bag clutched in one hand and nervously licking his lips, but it felt like hours to Howard.

"I'm sorry, Nigel," Jason said as he opened the door and slipped into the van. "I had to help my mum with breakfast. Time got away from me. It won't happen again." There were no more seats, so he slipped onto the floor beside Howard, and Howard slid the door shut.

Howard expected another explosion from Nigel, but there was nothing from the front seat except a slow hiss.

They were just approaching the M6 when Nigel finally spoke.

"Turn around," he said, his voice hard and implacable.

"What?" Gary asked, as if he wanted to make sure he'd heard right.

"I said turn around," Nigel repeated. "Go back the way you came. Now." He didn't raise his voice at all, didn't yell and scream as he'd done so many times before, but it was more terrifying for all that. Howard felt the vomiting sensation in his stomach turn hard and cold, and he reached out to grip Jason's shoulder, the only support he could offer. Jason didn't even look up at How, just kept his eyes down on the floor of the van.

Gary brought the van back to the corner where they'd picked up Jason, but then Nigel gave him further directions until they were stopped in front of a small neat house that Howard recognized from the one time he'd visited Jason at home.

"Get out," Nigel said, and there was no doubt about who he was talking to.

"Nige, I-"

"Get out," Nigel said, his voice slightly raised, but still terrifyingly calm. "You want to make breakfast for your mum? You'll have all the time in the world for that now. Go back to your mum; go back to your painting and decorating. It's about all you're good for."

"But-" Jason tried to stop this one last time.

"Out!" Nigel was finally screaming. "Get the fuck out! Now!"

Jason shifted and turned, breaking Howard's hold on his shoulder, then he opened the door and stumbled out with his bag clasped to his chest.

"Close the fucking door, Howard," Nigel said. Howard obeyed, as he always did, and then they were pulling away from the kerb, leaving Jason stood there on the pavement, his eyes haunted and shell-shocked.

If Howard had thought the silence in the van before was awful, it was nothing to what it was now. The silence seemed to have an actual physical presence, to be pushing down on him. He was simultaneously too warm and too cold, and felt as if each breath had to be forced into his lungs.

He looked around the van. Mark had frozen in place, his shoulders hunched, his hands shaking in his lap. His eyes were wide, and what little colour he'd had in his face was gone. Rob was turned away from him, staring out of the window, his fingers drumming nervously on his leg. In the driver's seat, the white of Gary's cheek had been broken by a small red spot of colour. Directly in front of him, he could only see the back of Nigel's head, which he was grateful for.

"We'll be better off without that tosser," Nigel was muttering. "He was only ever going to pull the rest of you down."

 _He's a better dancer than any of us_ , Howard thought, but he couldn't force the words out. He was a coward, his fear of Nigel overwhelming his need to say the right thing, to do the right thing. He looked into the future, into what would happen if the band was successful, looked into months or years of facing Nigel's anger, of not doing the right thing because he was afraid. It might have been bearable, just about, with Jason in the band. But without him?

In fact, the thought of doing anything without Jason was suddenly unbearable.

"Stop the van," he said quietly.

"Don't you dare stop, Gary," Nigel said.

"Stop the van," Howard said, louder this time. "Stop it, or I'm jumping out."

Gary pulled over to the kerb and put the brakes on quickly enough that the seatbelt bit into Howard's shoulder. Before he could think about it, he'd released the buckle, opened the door, and hopped out onto the pavement.

"You get back into the fucking van, Howard!"

Howard didn't answer. He just stood there, holding his bag, overcome by the feeling that the world had suddenly stopped making any sort of sense.

"You've got five seconds."

Five seconds later, Howard still hadn't moved. The passenger door flew open, and Nigel got out. He put a firm hand on Howard's shoulder. Howard managed not to flinch, but only with difficulty.

"We've nearly cracked it," Nigel said. His voice was calm for the moment. "We're nearly there. Get back in the van, and you'll be living on champagne and caviar in a year. Stay where you are, and you'll be back working in a garage for the rest of your life."

Howard shook his head.

"Do you even know what you're giving up, you stupid boy?"

The hell of it was, Howard did know. They were close enough to breaking that they'd seen what fame could do for them. And he wasn't eager to go back to painting cars. It was over a year since he'd worked in the garage and there were times he could still feel the fumes in his lungs. But he couldn't do it this way. 

"I'm not going on without Jason," he said, the truth of the words ringing in his head like a clear bell. He was doing the right thing. However mad what he was doing was, he knew that for a certainty.

"Right." Nigel took his hand off Howard's shoulder and jabbed him viciously in the chest with one finger. "You can tell your boyfriend you're sacked." Nigel spit out the words. "Permanently. Both of you." One last poke at his chest, and Nigel stomped back into the van and slammed the door. There was the squealing of tyres, and then the van sped down the street.

 _Christ_ , Howard thought. _What have I done?_

* * *

Jason sat on the kerb in front of his house, bag at his side, his arms wrapped around his legs, his gaze fixed on a piece of dirty gum stuck to the tarmac at his feet. He felt a prickling in the back of his throat and swallowed quickly, trying not to give in to the misery swamping him.

It was over. He'd only ever dreamed of being a professional dancer, and now his best chance of making that happen was over. And why? Because he'd been a minute late? Because he'd helped his mum when she'd asked? It didn't make any sense. 

But then, Nigel had always been a capricious bastard. He'd always excelled in making Jason feel that he wasn't worth the merest part of a fuck, that he was only in the band to make up the numbers, to be the window dressing in the back. To feel that his singing wasn't good enough, his choreography wasn't good enough, even his looks weren't good enough.

There were footsteps behind him, and Jason pulled in tighter on himself, willing whatever neighbour was passing to ignore him. Even when the footsteps faded down the street, he didn't relax. Because it was only a matter of time before one of his brothers bounded out of the house, and asked him what he was doing sitting there. Or his mum came out and asked him what was wrong. He didn't want to face anyone right now, wanted to hide away and tend to his wounds alone. He didn't think he could face his brothers' outrage or his mum's sympathy just now. It would break him. But he couldn't move either, couldn't find the energy to slope away to some hiding place until he felt capable of coping with human company.

There were a new set of footsteps, but this time the footsteps didn't pass him by. This time they stopped behind him, and Jason could feel a pair of eyes staring at the back of his head. He braced himself for either a well-meaning comment or a casual insult, but there was nothing. Finally, he heard the person behind him move, felt a presence take its place on the kerb beside him, but still he didn't look up.

"You gonna sit here all day?" Howard asked.

Howard was meant to be on his way to London with the other boys.

"Because it's fucking uncomfortable."

Howard wasn't meant to be in Wythenshawe.

"It's worse than that fucking hire van."

Howard hated Wythenshawe. 

"I'm glad to be out of that fucking van."

Howard was still in the band, and Jason wasn't. 

"Why are you here?" Jason finally blurted out, curiosity overruling misery every time.

"I told Nigel to fuck off." Howard looked far too pleased with himself, and no wonder. They'd all dreamed of doing that, one time or another, and not one of them had had the bottle.

"Did you really?" Howard hesitated long enough that Jason knew he was lying. "You didn't, did you."

"Nah." He elbowed Jason in the ribs. "That would have been something, though, wouldn't it? Telling Nige to fuck off?" Jason finally looked up and found Howard grinning at him. "I think his head would've exploded."

"He would have had a stroke," Jason said, and he felt the shadow of a smile forming on his own face.

"He would've dropped dead on the spot."

"He would've spontaneously combusted."

"We could've sold tickets." Howard gave him another nudge. "I'll bet there's plenty would pay to see Nigel in flames."

Jason could only nod at that. After all, they'd seen Nigel shout at enough people in the months they'd been in the band, seen him make more than one enemy. They sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplating a stroke-ridden, spontaneously combusting Nigel Martin Smith.

"Why are you here, How?" Jason finally asked again.

"It didn't sit right with me. What Nigel did to you. It felt awful, just here." Howard pointed to the middle of his chest.

"So you quit?"

"I sort of quit." Howard gave a sheepish grin. "And I was sort of sacked."

"Oh, Howard." Jason felt his own awful feeling clench up right in the middle of his chest. Howard sacked. And for him! For poor bloody not-good-enough Jason Orange.

"Don't look like that, Jay." Howard slung an arm around him. "Knowing I don't have to face Nigel and his old bollocks ever again is the best news I've had in weeks. In months, even."

"But what are you going to _do_?" What were they both going to do, but go on the dole and go back to ordinary lives, painting cars and decorating flats.

"What do you want to do, Jay?"

"I don't know."

"You know what I want to do? I want to dance." Impossibly, Howard was smiling.

"But-"

"Proper dancing. Not some stupid routine one of Nigel's mates has come up with."

"Yeah," Jason said, remembering the routine he and Howard had come up with early on. The one Nigel had hated. The one that had pushed them both, and poor Markie, to the limits of their ability. And now he could see another advantage to not being in the band. "Be good not to wear one of Nigel's ludicrous costumes."

"The Apollo's open tonight. D'you want to go?"

"Yeah." Jason smiled as the clenching awfulness in his chest began to dissolve. "Yeah, I do."

"Then let's go."

And as easily as that, Jason no longer felt miserable. He felt free.

He could worry tomorrow. About what he was going to do, and what he was going to tell people. He wasn't in a boy band anymore, wasn't going to be a pop star, but he felt as if he was on the path to something better than fame and fortune. On the path to another life, one that might still involve a dancer and former vehicle painter.

Howard stood, reached out his hand, and hauled Jason to his feet. Jason stumbled, and before he knew it, he was wrapped in Howard's arms, surrounded by the warm strength of him. He shivered as he felt Howard's lip brush lightly against his ear, felt his breath stir his hair, and Jason wondered for a moment if this other life might have even more to offer him, things that he'd never even dared hope for, things he could let himself want now.

But then Howard was pulling away, and pulling him towards the house.

"Would your mum have any breakfast left?" he asked, his eyes hopeful.

"Let's go see," Jason asked, then he and Howard were walking together, towards their new life.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hc_bingo](http://hc_bingo.livejournal.com) challenge, for the sacrifice square. Huge thanks to [Cenea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cenea) for an incredibly helpful beta, and [soundofthesurf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofthesurf) for being my always kind first reader.


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